Landing Tails
by Phit
Summary: You flip a coin, it lands heads up. A split is made. In some other universe the coin lands tails up. A second longer passes, no becomes yes, and William Parry leaves his world forever. Appreciate all reviews! LAST CHAPTER NOW UP.
1. The change

""Here, on this deck, millions of other universes exist, unaware of one another..."

"...every other universe, came about as a result of possibility. Take the example of tossing a coin: it can come down heads or tails and we don't know before it lands which way it's going to fall. If it comes down heads, that means that the possibility of its coming down tails has collapsed. Until that moment the two possibilities were equal. But on another world, it does come down tails."

"All right," he said, getting to his feet, holding his dæmon close to his breast. "Then we'll have to - one of us will have to - I'll come to your world and..."

She knew what he was going to say, and she saw him holding the beautiful, healthy dæmon he hadn't even begun to know; and she though of his mother, and she knew that he was thinking of her, too. To abandon her and live with Lyra, even for the few years they'd have together - could he do that? He might be living with Lyra, but she knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself.1(-Philip Pullman)

She looked into his eyes to tell him no, she wanted to leave her world for him, to live with him there and forget her own Jordan, but she stumbled. For just a moment Lyra stumbled. Not facing the loaded tartar guns had she stopped to turn, not feeling the cold wisp of life draining from her at each pressing ghost's hand had she turned to the door in the land of the dead. But she stumbled here. It was something in his eyes. She hadn't looked in the grove? But it wasn't there then - was it? His eyes were dark and bright, ready to weep but burst into a smile for her. 

They fell into an embrace and stayed while their two dæmons changed into cats and pressed together, watching them. His words hung still, growing in strength as she let them pass. She pushed away from his chest, just for a moment.

"No, Will. Me and Pan will come stay with you in your world, one of us has to and it's got to be us doing it, because..." Her words failed for a moment, she was going to lie to him, to say Lord Asriel would figure something out for her to keep her healthy. But she couldn't do that to him, a lie of hope to pretend they had more choices.

"No, Lyra. I couldn't do that - watching you get sicker and weaker while I grew up stronger and healthier every day. Ten years isn't very long but," he smiled proudly to her, "we'll make them count."

1) Everything up to the 1 is written entirely by Philip Pullman. All credits and rights belong to him and any associations. I've included the quotes by way to see what's gone differently, that is all. I would've used a star but it doesn't want to work for me. 


	2. In the library

"After all," He'd said on the gyptians boat, "Things wouldn't go bad just when we're getting ready to live. We know that everything up to then is living, too. We're alive right now and now's when we'll do our living, we're not just waiting until it's time."

There was a space at Jordan Lyra couldn't have noticed was missing before. Roger was missing somewhere inside of her to be sure, but back at Jordan she knew where he should be but wasn't. She would turn brightly to the space for months and find Will. He never stood in the space though, his shoulders were too broad. He'd follow her to the ends of the world the same, but he'd hold her hand and guide as much as she did. He stood next to the Roger space, but while the bits that were Roger from the moment after he stepped from the world of the dead could be there invisibly as Lyra's memory, Will was real, he was solid, and Lyra loved him for it.

Lyra wondered sometimes how she could ever have continued without Will next to her. She'd never thought before that she couldn't be on her own but that it was just unpleasant. Her heart said she needed Will. It wasn't the same as being weak or leaning on someone for comfort or praise, it was Will and it was love. It had almost seemed like the most natural of things leading Will around her Oxford, as jaw dropped as she'd been in his own, introducing him to their world.

Kirjava, now cat formed, lept lightly onto her lap. Lyra gasped. It was always a small thrill to her and she looked to find Pantalaimon sneakily climbing an apple tree on the far side of the garden.

"Will wants you to meet him in Bodley's." Kirjava said quietly.

"Just a messanger now, Kirjava?" Lyra goaded as if the dæmon were her own. Kirjava lept quietly from her lap, just as she'd come and Lyra thrilled again at their powers of seperation - Kirjava was so far! Only Will could do that without being caught, she marveled proudly at him and picked herself up to go see him.

"I just want you to know." Will whispered quietly between the shelves of books towering above them. Even if he'd spoken loudly though the library would not have noticed. The rafters were high and peaked into a ceiling arch somewhere far to their left. The old books consumed sound nearly as well as their tattered covers gathered dust. Will, in a gesture unlike himself, bit his lip, grinned, and kissed Lyra twice, and grabbed her hand. Happy endlessly, Lyra pulled him back for another kiss before allowing herself to be led through the library. Even if she didn't go to Bodley's library much before her journey to the North, afterward Lyra had learned something to respect in the old bindings here, she'd learned the library as if it were the very streets of Oxford she'd only needed once to be threatened banishment from to become inclined to learn the whole area. This was in case the person the threats came from every became a serious enemy, she'd told Hugh Lovat. She'd also continued with a story about a fight at the covered market where the son of some Gyptian lord had been caught and his father blackmailed because of just such an error in forethought.

Will stopped at the end of the next bookshelf and caught a hand to his forhead, looking from side to side.

"Will, where we going?" Lyra asked. Not that she wasn't enjoying his unfamiliar helplessness in the library, he'd only been in Oxford a few months now and already he'd learned most of what Lyra had taught him about the city, she didn't expect him to fit in so well so fast. But, she thought, he's Will.

"A through E?" He toned and picked another row to follow down, neglecting tiled placards along the ends of shelf rows.

Far above, Pan, who'd been following their twisted path by leaping and flowing along the book shelves, jumped the gap to the next row and called to them "Over here, Lyra."

"Right." Lyra responded and took over leading. "Before the wardrobe, this would've been nearly the longest I spent in a library." Lyra laughed. The two and their dæmons had often found themselves played the little game they'd played so long ago just to talk:

"What if we hadn't hidden in that wardrobe that night, Pan?" Lyra would start. It was the beginning, they'd decided.

"There would've been a whole lot less trouble!" Pan would like to have responded, but Kirjava was sitting next to him, cat paw pressed lightly on his pine marten back. "A lot would be different, Lyra." He'd settled on.

"And what if we hadn't seen that window on the ring road? What if we'd gone to a different café at Ci'gazze?" Will would ask next. Lyra loved that he had a "we" now also. She'd thought he'd looked so alone at first, just him with no dæmon. She didn't know how he figured things out himself or what he did if he was just alone with no one around him. She and Will had both found all those answers in the land of the dead. But it wasn't the last time she'd seen what alone really was. She blinked against a tear that wouldn't stop. Now. That's what Will'd said, there is now. And everything until Then is Now and it's us living.

"Here." Kirjava let out something like a low whistle to indicate a particular heavy brown edition of The Encyclopedia.

Will bent down and picked the book up rather more carefully than is necessary for any normal inquiries into A through E. He opened the cover. Flipped one, two pages, and there - a hole, cut with such precision.

Lyra looked over the shards of the subtle knife. "Will..." she whispered, "But why"  
He took the book from her hands and looked at her seriously. "This is our here, Lyra. This is our now. For us there is no elsewhere. There's nothing but this, for us. No more specters, no more Dust leaks. The knife shouldn't have been created, but I can't say I'm not glad it was."

"But, Will -"

"Lyra, I've been selfish too, using the knife like I have. Doing this was selfish, something that shouldn't have happened. I have to make sure that it's done. It's what I can do that's responsible. I can't make up for the specters I've made, I can only try to do enough to make up for the Dust I sent into the abyss. But breaking the knife is the only thing that really ensures none of that can ever happen again. It's our responsibility to do what's best when we know we can." His voice was passionate and low.

"But what about..." They both knew. Everything he'd said was against him being here now. She'd told him before. He could only smile now.

"Iorek!" She started, but he was shaking his head.

"I made a window into my world before I broke the knife. Lyra, there's no point in that book. There isn't one in this world. The knife will never be whole again, I had to make sure. I love you Lyra. I didn't even know that kind of love before you showed me it was there, but I love you now and I will always. I can't let you hurt -" His voiced cracked and he looked away for a moment. He coughed slightly and continued. "like mum. I think she thought, she must've thought for so long he was coming back. You've got to know that that's the end when it comes. Please, Lyra, promise me it's the end." His eyes were begging her now, pleading through their love. Not blind, but willing to be blinded, a happy sacrifice to satisfy a need.  
"I promise." She whispered weakly. Pantalaimon flowed into her arms to comfort her. He hadn't even said anything to them.

2)I don't know what Bodley's Library looks like. I've gone into the gift shop of the Bodlien Library but not any farther, so library-ish works for now. 


	3. Elaine & John

"Well done, my boy." The ghost of John Parry faded quickly into the background it was becoming part of. "My son..." He whispered on words so quietly they could have been the wind. And the words were the wind and John Parry had merged into it. John Parry, wind, both moved with strong intent, fierce purpose. The wind swept over the battlefield feeling blood vibrate against its flowing path, heat rising from the armies below, wings sweeping through it, fires sucking at it. Still the wind blew past, escaping the battle on the plains more succienctly than any combatant could ever hope. It was unmarred by the experience. Things happened in the wind, below the wind, through the wind, still it continued. It was not a single strand though, it was something that touched everything in a vast, expansive caress. Touching everything, the wind slipped through the holes in the worlds, resounding slightly along the window thread edges, cut immeasurably thin, but composed of the abyss itself. And it came upon a familiar world. All worlds connected by a passable means are instantly familiar to the wind, but there was a scent in the air of this gust and it carried into a city. Past streets and houses, cars and people. Many people didn't notice, it wasn't the strongest of smells and others were stronger and forced their way into importance. Somewhere dinner was being served, it picked its way into the wind and fought for dominance until it reached the back porch of Mrs. Cooper's house. There she was, Elaine Parry. Yellow blouse, red shoes. Her trousers didn't match, but Will had packed for her after all, he knew she wouldn't have the nicest wardrobe to choose from. And the fight continued, showing more passion than Asriel's forces held in their injustice, the slight smell overtook the powerful reeking garlic and brushed past Elaine's face. It was a moment, a pause, a kiss, a scent, a flood.  
She broke into a thrilled sigh and tears appeared. She knew that, she knew it so clearly! Not as well as she knew herself, she could never know herself as well as John had. He was perfect, and that scent she'd known so well - thick brown soap. Hard stuff he'd pick at with fingernails until he could gain enough of it to work up a foam underneath their old faucet. And then - she knew it - he'd put his hands together as if in prayer, make an 'O' shape, and blow lightly. There was an art to it, he'd tried teaching her, but she could never get the bubbles out right. It was okay - he'd held her soapy hands tightly - he would blow bubbles for her. It would be raining, a little crystal falling spring. He'd catch one on his forhead, laughing, she'd reach up to pop it. Their old kitchen, their old house. So long ago now.

The wind passed and gave in its battle to keep the scents at bay. So long, all he'd wanted was that goodbye. He needed a goodbye for her: his wife, his friend. He loved her too much to leave her without goodbye. The last intent of John Parry fell away into happiness and was swept over into a bag of chicken leaving a grocery store. Now, he could truly end.

Now, she could truly continue. That one passing breeze had brought so much clarity. Elaine Parry tried again, the memory was so fresh it amazed her. She poked her memory again, another moment arose. Again she searched, Will: young, crying, a cut on his leg, gritting his teeth against the iodine. But he trusted her to make it better. Did she? Always, he'd say, always. She continued searching her own past. The fog she'd grown warily accoustomed to was gone. It took too much to break through it, she could only try to ignore in the right ways. But it wasn't here now. She had at least now. And for now, she sat content to love her two men as much and as hard as she could before love fell into just a steady constant again. 


	4. Breaking bonds

Elaine Parry. She knew what it was like missing the person you love. Truly missing, not gone beyond doubt but with just enough to rack her into displacing hope onto phantom needs and worries. Will had thought maybe the specters were in his world too, but he knew that it was just easier to think that. It was always easier to think his mum got confused or panicked sometimes instead of wondering about what she was thinking. Will didn't know what she thought most of the time, he couldn't. He knew she loved him. Love for him was something as simple as breathing. He was her child, she loved him and he loved her. He cared for her during the confusing times and he hoped it could get better. He thought things should be better. He stepped through the window just knowing something was different. Will'd hoped it wasn't just him. It was a long bus into Winchester from Oxford. He'd had so much to tell her, but could he? What could he say to her after abandoning her here, worlds away, and leaving, taking risks he didn't understand for reasons he didn't know. Until now.

Lyra was sleeping with her cheek pressed roughly against his shoulder, frowning, Pan curled on her lap. He'd had his forehead on the cool orange gripbars of the bus for a while. The triangle pattern imprinted itself into his skin. He'd never imagined he'd be nervous to see his mother again. But he knew he was happy. This was happy. The bus rumbled beneath them, choking fumes from its end. 

Would she even recognize him? He hadn't seen himself for a while now. For how different he felt he knew there had to be some physical change too. He flipped his left hand over. It wasn't just the fingers, he'd probably lost weight too. Would it scare her to see her son? He blinked the thought away and went back to looking out the window. 

It should never be strange to go home. He thought. But home was only ever whatever space he could make safe for he and his mum.

"You left me, Will."

It wasn't an accusation, but he felt it like one.

"I'm so sorry, mum." He grabbed clumsily at her hand and wrapped it into a ball with his own two. A sloppy kiss on her cheek, and a smile. She smiled back, loving, the true mother who cared for him when he was little and taught him all the important lessons he needed to know, the woman who had captivated John Parry so many years ago and locked his heart away. "You're back now, Will." She let go of his hands and picked up the cup of tea in front of her. "Mrs. Cooper was very nice. She made good tea and we went to do laundry together once."

"That's great, mum. I'm glad to hear. I was very worried about you. I sent a postcard, did you get it?" The words tumbled out in various shades of awkward rush. "No." Worry flashed across her face, then recognition. She put the tea down and took a seat in one of the cheap center couches. "That's why they moved me. Will, you should know about the post service." she admonished. 

And she was gone. His heart broke to pieces, he could feel its shifting shards inside. Seven, just as the knife had broken when he'd thought of her. It was scarred now, his heart the same. 

Elaine Parry had been moved to an assisted care facility. Mrs. Cooper had tried, but Will's love was missing and Elaine Parry had deteriorated until the older woman admitted her failed hand and phoned the center. Will had been to Mrs. Cooper's house already, he knew it was too much to ask of her and thanked her for everything she'd done. She gave he and Lyra a ride to the center. Her sympathy overcame curiosity and she'd left the two children alone with a number to call her at when their visiting hours ended.

"Mum, I'd like you to meet Lyra. Lyra Silvertongue. She's - " He caught himself and fought for words in front of them both. "She's the best friend I ever had. I love her, mum." He smiled. "We love each other." He felt Lyra's hand slip into his own. Pan lept onto one of the center's plastic wicker chairs. Suspicion remained on Mrs. Parry's face. She shifted in her chair and reached for the tea again.  
"Oh, Will!" She stopped in mid reach and pulled her son onto the table's edge.

Lyra wrestled for a moment, then stepped away to meet with Pan at the far side of the recreation room. She didn't know what to expect here. This place was as sterile and awkward in itself as Bolvangar. None of the cheap furniture matched the rest, the tables and television sets were in various stages of need, windows occupied the walls as if in decoration. The only true decorating attempt came from the bland curtains draped across the windows and the small plastic flower vases sitting on end tables or the white tile floors. Everything collected dust as a hobby to pass the time here, Lyra got the impression it moved very slowly for these people. And it was the people, not the setting that worried her. She'd never felt uncomfortable around people before, never doubted what the right way to act was. In fact she'd never thought how to act before at all! But from her small instinctual relationship with her own mother, she knew she'd want to be alone with her.

Pan bristled at the thought.

"Not him, that horrible monkey." She explained.

"But it's them Lyra, both of them."

"I know but she was so kind to us then when we caught that sleeping sickness or what it was. She kept us there safe from dangerous people and such."

"She hid us away so only she could care for us, though. What if Will hadn't come"  
Lyra flinched. Would this become another question for her mind to dance over: What if they hadn't been found? What if she'd never seen Will again? Worse: what if Mrs. Coulter hadn't been there and Will had been stuck caring for her? Would he have then? Would he have left her to find his father? Afterall, the alethiometer said the most important thing was to find his father. Maybe he would've thought that was important more than them. 

"Would we have left if it was him?" Pantalaimon questioned.

Lyra smiled at the boy across the room. He held his mother's hand so gently, but with love not discomfort. They hugged each other again and again. His eyes darted around as she stood, he hunted for ghosts not there, to extinguish them before they showed themselves to her. Even from phantoms he would protect the ones he loved. He would've stayed. He did stay 


	5. More than pancakes

Twenty-three. William Parry grew a vision of the number in his head - bright gold and shining he saw it. Changing his mind he turned the number a dark navy blue with streaks of gold plummage shooting from it. Twenty-three. Was he so old? When did that happen? He flipped the number around in his head the same direction he flipped the small box in his hand. 

His class had been cancelled at Jordan college. He'd only been running the class a few months. Attendance was low and while the master appreciated his exploration of the Banard-Stokes hypothesis - now, no longer heresy Lyra noted - it was becoming increasingly difficult keeping the Scholars intrest. They'd decided together to cancel the course. Lyra had promised the Master they would still continue the work, though in a much quieter atmosphere.

Will suspected her of working in their newly created field to get back to the other worlds. They'd started together with intentions of producing toward the Republic of Heaven. Since then the two had at very least sparked the debate of seperating science from church. Not surprisingly William Parry fought on the side of seperation. The fight was decided in Geneva, and with Parry's support, experimental theologians became scientists. 

It wasn't the dismal fight they'd expected. Their journey together had broken the power branch of the church - the Consistorial Court of Discipline - and shattered the confidence of the other branches. In the six years it took them to decide to fight for science no other power dared fill the empty shoes left by the Court. The Church lost its oppressive hold on the people through most means. Colleges and Universities were freed from teaching barrs and Scholars and teachers stepped hesitantly through newly unguarded doors into areas freshly cleaned for exploration. William Parry quickly made a name for himself. He'd taken a job as a servant of Jordan College, and apparently, while just a child, the knowledge of Jordan was so great it influenced even servants. He'd presented a thesis of some of the more simple scientific theories he could recall and quickly gained credit at White Hall. After all, it was rumored, he was the son of the magnificently intelligent, though strange, Stanislaus Grumman. Any question of how he'd come to belong in Oxford, or why he hadn't existed before age fifteen, or why Grumman hadn't mentioned a son was only proof of his story. After all, hadn't Grumman the same type of mystery to him? And so William Parry and his dæmon Kirjava had joined the new world, determined to create their own difference - even if only to the ones they loved.

He had plans to move from the college into a house of his own now. He was sure he'd saved up enough money by now. 

"You think we'll be okay in the city, right Kirjava?"

Kirjava lept onto the table he sat at and looked him in the eye. "We've never had doubts before on our own, Will. We always made it work. This is no different"  
He stuffed the box into a small pocket in his jacket. This was different.

"Let's go now, Will." Kirjava insisted. They wouldn't be late now.

They left the kitchen table of Jordan to take the walk into Summertown. Will had become a regular customer at a certain unappetizing nook he'd refer to as a restaurant. He loved the shape of their bar and their strawberry pancakes. Lyra refused the call them pancakes and disliked their strawberry nature, but Pan had batted Kirjava's ear: "It's the company." he explained simply. And today they'd be in the best company: their friend, their safety, their love. 

"One knee, Will." Will reminded himself.

He coughed and tripped. "I know, I remember, I can do this." He picked up the pace and stepped over the pavement cracks and scattered bits of garbage. All the luck. "Will, we don't have to. It's a pancake hut even."

"I like their pancakes." Will answered back simply. 

"It's not even romantic. We really shouldn't." Kirjava argued. 

But Will wasn't ready to argue over where love led him. Even if it was just pancakes, Lyra was there too. His heart thudded suddenly faster and he gasped in a painful breath - he was thrilled, but terrified. He'd even been careful to make sure everything was perfect this morning, just for her. From his shoes to his hair, to his first breakfast: perfection. This would be his second breakfast: just in case he was too worried to eat it his stomach wouldn't grumble or anything. 

Lyra and Pantalaimon were working on a slice of apple pie, waiting for them. Pantalaimon nosed the crumbs around the plate a few times before deciding on the best morsels. 

"Will!" Lyra jumped from the hard red bench and threw her arms around him to deliver one overly sweet and sticky kiss. He licked his lips and laughed.

"I didn't know if you'd make it." She confessed happily.

"For you." He smiled confessing in his own happy manner. After all, he hadn't been very busy lately unless they'd been working together. His heart struggled harder and harder in his chest as he decided what came next.

"Pantalaimon and I ordered your pancakes." She blushed as if under his stare for the first time. "What is it Will? Are you feeling all right today?"

He grinned dangerously happy, but held back. Kirjava was right, Lyra was more that this, so much more he couldn't tell where her perfection ended at and where his clumsy attempt could begin. He looked at Kirjava for confirmation - she licked a paw in catful distaste. He'd come to recognize this from his dæmon.

"I'm fine Lyra. I'm just - " Excited, nervous, terrified, thrilled, his mind raced " - so much in love with you." He settled on the perfect way to describe the moment. 

"I love you too, Will." She hugged him seriously and pressed herself into his shoulder. It was never a girlish fancy, never something she hadn't felt with all the passion she could muster without starving bits from herself. It was real and true and she was refreshed each time he spoke the words to her. 

He held her softly to himself. His Lyra, as he was hers. For so long now, so short. There was nothing in the world he wanted now than to tell her he loved her, again and again. The ring in his pocket nearly seared his insides with anticipation. But it wasn't the ring. Will Parry gasped painfully and stepped back.

"Will!" Lyra screamed as he fell. Pantalaimon jumped over in shock. Kirjava released a screech of terrific depth. Tears immediately fell from Lyra's face as she and Pan stumbled to reach him. 

"Will! Will!" She gasped, shocked.

"Kirjava!" Pantalaimon nuzzled her, "Don't leave us, don't leave us!" Other customers rushed to help. William Parry lay still, but the screeching continued. 


	6. No backward

Will sat stiffly up in bed and coughed himself into hysterics.

Lyra was beside him in a moment rubbing his back until the fit passed. Kirjava lept from his chest to his side quickly to ease any pressure.

His coughing subsided, Will slowly found his voice. "What happened, Kirjava"

"We're sick, Will." Kirjava looked up at him with something close to pity, though whether the look was for both of them or Will alone was unclear. They had just suffered a heart attack.

"Oh, Will!" Lyra was hugging his right hand to her face, "All of us were so worried." Pantalaimon dropped from Lyra's shoulder into his own warm place next to Kirjava. Will slowly let a smile cover his face, both guilty and scared.

"All of us?" He toned.

"Oh, sorry. Pantalaimon and I, a lot. We were pretty scared there, Will...watching you fall like that...then Kirjava...we thought..." she trailed as the tears made their slow descent down her already reddened face - just as they had done the past few days. Crying had become the only easy part of her love's vigil. She noticed Will waiting for her to finish the thought - he didn't like things hanging open like that, too many possibilities intruded. She took a breath. "We thought it was 'then'. We thought you'd died on us, right there. Right when I hugged you, right when I kissed you. We thought 'That's all, that's it.' But they worry about you at Jordan, too. The Master, the Scholars, servants, all the professors." She clarified for him.

"But we made it through." He smiled to his love.

"But how many more times?" Kirjava asked quietly from the foot of his bed. But it wasn't his bed at all, he realized quite suddenly.

"Lyra, where are we? This isn't my room." Will took in the things around him, all his photograms, the floor mat they'd woven together along the canals, his jackets hanging from the back of the door. But the white wardrobe and dresser were not his. The bed was a double, just as he was familiar with, and the sheets were his, but it didn't feel familiar. He pushed his legs around inside the familiar purple sheets - definately not the right bed. "Don't worry, Will. We're in a hospital. I moved the things here so it would be normal when you woke up. I didn't want you to be confused." She smiled, "I guess I also wanted to be comfortable while I was waiting for you to wake up"

"...because of the heart attack." Will seemed to be slowly catching up to the world around him. Seeing Lyra, safe, as he woke up allowed for Will to figure out himself. 'As long as Lyra is okay, then we can figure out everything from there.'

Lyra fell through the door into the chemistry laboratory. It was the lightest door at Jordan, being added the most recently it's style was far less ornate than the rest of the classicly built Jordan College. She'd meant to simply push it open, but Lyra had grown up at old Jordan, new Jordan was just that: new. Not that she didn't like new Jordan. In fact new Jordan was just an improvement on what she'd been accustomed to.

New Jordan was what sprung up in the wake of the diminished Church powers. New Jordan expanded even further into its tight space. New Jordan welcomed in Sebastian Makepeace as a chemist where other colleges had scorned his previous "alchemist" labelling. New Jordan pushed its roots further, testing if the Church truly was gathering itself to lick its wounds and not just waiting to deliver the whip to the first foot out of line. They didn't stick a foot out, they stepped out entirely. The Sub-Rector was pushed into a small converted basement room. His sparse room was handed over to a promising New Dane botanist. This was only four years past. The Master, no longer the raven-dæmoned man Lyra had grown up with but a younger man: well travelled and a previous student enrolled on the Cassington scholarship, bit his lip in the wait for the Church's reprimand. His hand, unslapped, drew X's over Church proposals. An annual donation request from the Consistorial Court in Geneva was, regrettably, denied. Again, the Master waited for a knock on the door, a condemned sign that would inevitably hang in Jordan's Yaxley Quad, a summons to appear in Geneva, a police escort to deliver it. Nothing came. The Church lost Jordan College. But their failing grip ensnared others more tightly than before. Cardinal's became Christ College. St. John's restricted all female residencies to nuns. But Jordan had escaped. And they'd gained Sebastian Makepeace. Lyra had come to him before, but she was desperate then.

"Mr. Makepeace," Lyra pushed her fumbling hands into leather gloves to assist him in carrying tubes from his vented work area into a small side closet. "You were an alchemist, right"

"I was." he answered simply.

"For how long"

"Lyra, are you testing my credentials?" He finished putting three small tubes into a rack and pulled a stool over for her to sit on.

"Well, no. Not really. What I mean is did you work on alchemy for the money"

"Lead into gold"

"Yeah, that sort. I don't know what you alchemists do properly, but I've heard some"

"And what have you heard?" His tone was low. Something about him had always reminded her how Will would never grow old. It wasn't their similar shocking black hair, though Makepeace's was dulled with grey by now, it wasn't even their similar dæmons. It wasn't in the way he spoke with her - always serious, but never unfriendly. There was always some secret pain he had in his eye that she could never know. Will had that, too. But she knew why in Will's case. She knew how much his bravery had hurt him getting back on that bus to Oxford. She knew his tears when he closed off the window, standing underneath the palms in Cittagazze. What she didn't know, couldn't know, is how it hurt him, all the little ways leaving his mother behind had torn him apart within. He'd been shredded inside, but she could never know - he wouldn't let her. That would've been the breaking straw letting Lyra have that guilt. He kept it to himself. Lyra took the stool and suddenly felt very childish. This whole alchemy business was nonsense! But Makepeace had already admitted he'd worked at it in earnest - she had nothing to lose._ But I'll lose everything if I don't even try. I can't even be human if I can't have enough in me to try._

"The Philospher's Stone, the Elixer of Life." Lyra bit her lip hard. Pantalaimon ducked under her stool and skittered out from the other side.

"He's sick already, isn't he?" Makepeace sighed.

Lyra nodded. They were only nineteen.

"Who decided, Lyra, you or him"

"He said...he said he'd come here. Pan and I, we thought it, but we couldn't say it. Professor, if there were anything in the world, any way to take that back right now, I'd fight him. I would've had him living in his own world a full and healthy life. This isn't right! We have to be able to fix it! Things turn out right eventually - they have to else the world would be a terrible place!" Lyra'd been digging her nails into the stool to keep the welling tears down. She fought against the damn straining her throat and making her croak. She looked him in the eye with all the restraint she could hold on to, "But the world's not terrible at all because there is love like that, and because I love him like that, too"

"And would the world be terrible, even if your love was not here"

"No." Lyra darkened, "No, it would be better because I could still love him just as he is, and he could love me too, but we'd both get our whole lives for that"

"But William chose death in this world to a lifetime in his own"

"He chose me." Lyra gritted her teeth against Makepeace's defeatist notions. "Death is my consequence." The damn was unprepared for the searing cry which ripped through it and the tears began. "Lyra," Makepeace hugged the crying girl as he thought of his own son and the pain he'd gone through losing him. "Will made his own choices, he always has for as long as I've known him. But it wasn't uninformed. He didn't chose this life from ignorance. He knew what he had chosen for himself. He's chosen to fill what life he has with you, and to fill it here. But he's also chosen death"

"The elixer..." Lyra sobbed into his chest.

Makepeace shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lyra. It's just the same as time: there is no backward. He's made the decision. There is no cure for death."

_-----That last line comes from the song 'Brothers': "Ot smyerti lyekarstva nyet." I don't know if it's the most proper of translations, but I'd heard it translated that way once and it stuck._


	7. The happiest regret

Serafina Pekkala, clan queen of the witches of Lake Enara stood fighting regret on the bow of the Gyptian's boat. The first half of the week homeward she and her dæmon, Kaisa, had spent in the air, unwinding their sorrows into memories and well wishes as hopeful as the clouds they brushed past. They had lost much on this journey. 

With a task in hand, Serafina Pekkala could see the immediate as well or better than any short-life, but now that she had fulfilled her personal obligations to the man Scoresby, and her obligations to the angels, her obligations were to witch. And the witch she was wept bitterly again for the sisters she'd lost. Twenty in number, but far more in spirit and life, sucked dry by the specters, most. She saw time far differently with hundreds of years behind her and hundreds more ahead. But death in its swiftness gathers sadness to an immediate, so now she mourned.

There was no mourning for herself, no thoughts of filling the airid spaces around her with other scraps of shadow or thoughts of what to tell her clan as she returned. She would tell the truth, fully. It was simply what was required of her. She would hope that the Latvian queen Ruta Skadi had great luck in her own motivations so that they might meet again as sisters and mourn together for what had been lost on their journey. It was natural, it was witch. This was unnatural.

"You're staying in our world?" She questioned the short-life again. Minds change quickly when they do not have the benefit of time to create solid ideas with.

"Yes." Will Parry stood stone faced next to her, staring off the bow. She hadn't faced him yet. He knew she wouldn't.

She sighed. "It is unnatural to be out of your world, Will Parry. You know this."

"Did you know of my father? A man called Stanislaus Grumman in your world."

"I did not." Kaisa flapped his grey wings in warning. Will was leading the conversation, he'd been prepared. As Ruta Skadi had said there was something in him reminiscent of Lord Asriel. Serafina wished she'd met the man truly. Then she would know if it was a danger. His other-worldliness didn't scare her. A child could not scare a witch, a child has just begun existance. But there was something far above child she recognized in him. Whether or not it had been there since she'd met the boy in Cittagazze was not apparent. He was full of stotic determination now, she could not change his mind. Love was his end, she wished she'd known him earlier.

"He loved my mum and I so much that one of your witches killed him for it."

"Witches are not mine, they are their own allowing me to represent for them. The individual mind is not commanded like a specter on a simple drive. The things that drive us may allow us to think they're our reasons for living, but they are what gives us passion, from that we live truly. Do not limit your life to being a loosed arrow. Forces beyond the bowstring act on the arrow as well."

"You would have me live in my own world?" He turned to face her, not glaring: questioning. She'd already had many times the years he would have; he wanted to know what difference it made.

"Yes. I would have you living a long full life in your own world."

"Serafina Pekkala, have you ever loved someone?" He couldn't imagine a question so serious to someone he was so entirely foreign to, but Lyra had shown him where boldness was necessary.

"Yes. I do still."

"And when he dies...what will you think of him?"

But she hadn't thought at all. She could not imagine that grief onto herself, could not guess at what any future was. Whether from his question or the loss of her sisters, a fire began leaking flames into her heart.

"Go home, Will Parry. She will not blame you when you die, but she will love you until she does. Any questions of a future that might have been will plague her, and she will love you for the moments you gave her. She'll never let you know and she'll never let go. She'll watch you deteriorate and love you and wish she could deny all nature and lie with you forever." She faced him finally, threatening for the first time, anger such as she could not remember. "But you will die and she will continue. It will be the nature of things and you will only learn you cannot change it."

Will turned away hotly, but softened as Lyra, clutching Pantalaimon, dashed up the steps from the belly of the ship and called to him.

"You speak in terms of nature," he talked softly, still not facing the witch. "I tell you this, Serafina Pekkala, this is my nature." And he and Kirjava made their way jauntily across the moving deck to gather Lyra and Pantalaimon to themselves.

_And so it will be._

Serafina Pekkala smiled at the young girl. They were sisters now. Sisters not born of death, but of love that could outlast its lovers. _And so it will be._ She smiled again, a nature of love: the happiest regret.


	8. Above: infinity Here: the world

"There are lines, and there are Lines." Will explained while picking bits of grass clippings from both his shirt and Kirjava's fur.  
"And what are Lines?" Lyra asked. Dealing with Dust such as they had had allowed for Lyra's ears to distinguish the pronunciation of capital letters. Either that or Will was just easy for her to understand.  
"lines are what you see. Real lines, in geometry, we'll call them Lines; are infinate. That means that from that corner -" Will pointed to the edge of the zeppelin docking tower they leaned against " - a Line will extend out indefinately, completely straight, forever." 

"Geometry, "geo" meaning "earth" and "meter"of course is "measure". Earth measure." Lyra guessed. Will smiled. Like all other girls at St. Sophia's Lyra was afflicted with an ancient language course. "But Lines aren't visible?"

"As an idea, of course, a sort of measure, a necessary creation to draw conclusions from but not a creation really..." Will trailed and let the night take over making any necessary noise of silence. Lyra rested against his shoulder, Pan and Kirjava long since had been lost to their own games.

They'd jumped the fence with purpose. Yesterday, their Gyptian friend Tony Costa had made a challenge to Lyra and left an object at the top of the tower structure, but not easily accessible, he warned. Will and Lyra had made their way to Port Meadow and over the fence, their dæmons topping the obstacle far in front of them both. But their journey stopped at the base of the structure. Maybe Will had whispered something wildly romantic to Lyra and driven away all ideas of a midnight climb on the steel beast, maybe Lyra had discovered a comfortable spot of grass and Pantalaimon jumped ahead to gather the object. Either way, loathe to admit it, neither one was keen on climbing on such a dark and damp night. They'd agreed the view was best at the base in any case, either way Lyra was in for it tomorrow.

The scene would follow. Lyra would meet Tony in the hot morning sun, just as he was stashing bundles of extra rope into his newly purchased longboat. But newly purchased didn't mean new. Tony's boat was decrepit, a rushed purchase of a green wooden beast. But he cared for it lovingly, it was his home.

Lyra held the baby on her hip while Tony walked along the canal edge, peering over to find splinters or seams to wax over, grabbing a community tar bucket from his friends for serious repairs. His hawk dæmon clutched her taloned feet into the bank edge, sharp eyes catching repairs his missed.

"I don't know what happend to you, Lyra. You en't the gal we took up North six years back."

"Course I am, it's you that changed." She resisted slipping in the fen-dutch cursings that lurked in the back of her throat and bit down hotly. "Here." She tried handing the baby back.

"Just a minute, all right?" He purposely filled his hands with the tar bucket, slopping some of it on himself as he rushed to paint over a worn part. "That Will Parry got you worked over, all right. Pulling your reins, Lyra, and I sure en't seen that happen before."

"Only the gentle pull of love." Lyra flittered her eyelashes cutely in mock fancy and Pantalaimon turned to the baby, the most interesting in this banter.

"Come on Lyra, please get it back." Apparently the object Tony Costa had left on the zeppelin docking tower was a cotton-stuffed ragdoll his wife's little sister had made for their baby. She would never forgive him if he lost it. She didn't forgive him for much, starting with the baby and their rather accidental marriage that coincided with her pregnancy. "She'll kill me, Lyra, she already hates me."

"She doesn't hate you."

"Only just."

Lyra narrowed her eyes at him, but finally nodded that she'd get the doll back. She suspected he'd cheated in their contest and had his dæmon do most of the work, so she wouldn't feel bad tonight when she returned to the docking tower and Pantalaimon would gather the doll. A bustling figure of a woman appeared from one of the longboats further down the canal. "Here's Ma, then. She'll want to see you." Tony beamed as Lyra tried again, unsuccessfully to deliver the baby back to him. Pantalaimon shot to the ground to make get away easier. "You look so motherly there. When you having kids, Lyra?"

"When she gets married!" Ma Costa's booming voice shot over most of the shipping yard. "Some people got more sense than my boy, thanks Lyra." Ma Costa added as she relieved Lyra of the child and huffing, frowned at her son. He sheepishly flipped open his blackened palms. _See? No good for holding a baby._ Ma Costa let out a wind of exasperation. "I won't say he didn't find a nice gal though. She's good for him too, can keep him in line, working hard, just like I would have it."

Tony pantomimed a noose around his neck as Ma Costa turned. His hawk dæmon shot off a screech of reproach, from her vantage point, Ma Costa could still see him. And she did. Her dog dæmon growled a deep warning to them both.

"But he does love her too, don't you?" Her elbow holding the baby smacked into his side - Lyra wasn't sure it was entirely accidental.

Tony relaxed into a smile and threw his arms around his mother, laughing and delivering to her splotches of river algae, tar, paint chippings, and whatever else the dredges of Oxford's canals cared to hold. "Course I do, Ma." His hug ended, he pulled back and rubbed noses with his son. Afterall, he'd be bathing the boy tonight and didn't care to be pulling tar off more than one of them. They shared a laugh.

"So when's this William marrying you, Lyra?"

Above ran the rest of existance, below, Oxford. And below the docking struts of a Port Meadow zeppelin station, Lyra and her dæmon slept. Ten paces away, Will anxiously climbed the first few rungs of the utility ladder. Kirjava followed by her own methods. When he'd made it partway up he turned to the city.

"It's an amazing place, isn't it Kirjava?" She didin't respond, so he continued. "We can talk together, we can all be together. We did all right, didn't we"

"Of course, Will." She appeared suddenly around his thigh on the ladder rungs. "But the city isn't all that romantic. Two men were mugged by the Wharfs yesterday and one drowned when they tossed him in." "No." Will tried snatching glimpses of places now familiar to him, the moonlight was limited but reflected from the pointed rooftops and weathervanes of Oxford like a painting slowly emerging as his eyes floated into laziness. "It's perfect here." His heart beat faster and Kirjava made a sudden line to the ground. Once more he took in the view, scanning it all in the way someone appreciates the view from their backyard as belonging to them entirely, theirs alone. It wasn't foreign to him, it was home just as much as Lyra was home. Family. He closed his eyes. Warm hands beat down the cold metal rungs, never faltering on their damp grips. He'd known for what seemed so long his own limits, his own version of eternity. This was eternity, but he was not limited now. On the ground, Will sat down beside Lyra and lifted her head back onto his shoulder as they had been lying earlier. The cold moonlight melted over them all, outlines blurred. Kirjava came near and added warmth to their bundle. "Marry me." Will whispered hotly into her hair. The hot breath on his shoulder continued, the warm bundle of Pantalaimon didn't uncurl, his heart burned to wake her.

A single extra course Lyra had taken at St. Michael's. Will stood outside the gaping glass gothic imitation windows of the lecture hall. They'd been trying to communicate back and forth in that secret way of lovers when whispering was unnecessary and lipping was enough. Her table was set up only one away from the window, as soon as he'd gotten her attention it was merely an act of understanding. Jaxer had come into the city last night - they were going to their favorite bar to all get together, was she coming? It took many tries for the whole message to come across. Will occasionally was forced into a dancing puppet act. Finally, Lyra seemed to comprehend. 'Yes' she nodded, pretending to scratch her forehead.

"You! There! Get away from the windows, you'll destroy education!" One of St. Michael's professors came running toward Will. He turned with a silent laugh and ducked under the bushes. Kirjava tore away from the bushes to fool the man. Still feet came near him, but didn't find him, and grumbled away as they had grumbled in. Will waited, rolled from the bushes, began to pick himself up, one foot at a time, caught her eye as he looked up partway into standing. A strange look flashed across his face as Lyra watched. He smiled, something had happened. "Will you marry me?" the words sounded heavily on the silence of their communication. The sound broke against the glass windows, _had Lyra understood_? Her face crunched, Pantalaimon cocked his head to the side. Suddenly her head snapped forward, while others turned to the window. In a moment, Will was on his feet and away.


	9. Every time

Lyra and Pantalaimon made the walk down the long hall one more day. Lame portraits of founders and a tiled version of wainscoating ran down the length of the hall in a dreary pattern of pink on pink. Someone some time ago had decided this was cheerful. This was Will's "care center." Lyra knew a euphamism when she saw one. As proof, nurses escorted an older gentleman with shockingly white hair and a shockingly bad cough back to his room. The nurses cared for him, but this was his coffin. She needed Will to leave this place. 

Lyra skipped over the Lines from the corner she rounded, _for Will_ she thought. _Don't step on the cracks or you'll break your mother's back_. They'd learned the phrase from Will. It must've meant more to him than to either of them. They hadn't had a conventional mother, but then neither had he. Someone somewhere had stepped on too many of Will's "Lines" Lyra reasoned. Someone had broken his mother, _someone had broken him_. She pushed the thought away before it could spell tears from her.

"But he had someone to really love him and someone to really love in return." Pantalaimon said. He'd grown a great appreciation for Elaine Parry from his time spent with Kirjava. Kirjava may not have been Kirjava before their moment together on the docks, but she still knew who she was and where that came from. Pantalaimon's feet skittered along the tiles and in a rush of embarassed lonliness Lyra scooped him to her breast.

"But we had that too, Pan, we've never been lonely."

"We were never lonely, Lyra because we were whole ourselves." Pantalaimon nuzzled her neck knowing the next words would hurt them, "We made our whole elsewhere now. We're going to lose it."

"Oh, Pan!" She whispered and hugged him tighter.

"Lyra!" Will brightened as they entered his room, Kirjava lept from the sunny spot on Will's dresser to greet them. They embraced: he still in bed, stitting up now, she standing next to him. "They said you might not come today, Lyra. I thought they'd keep you away."

Lyra hesitated in pulling away, _had he meant the nurses_?

"The nurses said people don't visit much on Sundays." Kirjava added. Lyra relaxed.

"You're having a good day, Will?"

"Now." He smiled in return.

They left the care center together three days later. Will had had a bad day on Monday, but she'd convinced the nurses it was a fluke and taken him for a walk. The staff already had too many old people to deal with, Will was young and they couldn't understand his illness. Sometimes they'd talk to him, asking him questions he couldn't respond to until they frustrated him and forced him to shout. They always left more angry than they'd entered his room. Despite his reputation as a learned man of science, he seemed to them just an oddity. His presence was never missed in chart collections. His belongings were added to the small storage room down the hall. Typically this was where belongings stayed until a family member arrived to collect the belongings of their deceased. Will was not dead.

"Yet." He mumbled under his breath. They had made their way through Oxford to a familiar house. She'd supported him on the walk from the hospital and they'd taken a taxi from there. She'd held his hand the whole time. Now he was back in bed, his own this time. Lyra heaped the covers back onto him after helping him into bed. "I'm sorry, Lyra, I'm so sorry." He whispered and with sudden desperate strength gripped her hands in his own. Kirjava lept onto the covers and rubbed against Will, to calm him. Lyra sat down calmly at her place beside him.

"Will?"

"I didn't mean for this to happen, I really didn't!" His jaw jutted out in relentless determination. Tears fell slowly down his face. More than anything, this hurt Lyra. _It wasn't his fault! They couldn't have known! It wasn't his fault! It wasn't their fault_!

"Will, it's not your fault. We didn't think -"

"No!" He cut her off fiercely, "No. I should've known, more than anyone I should've known. I love you so much Lyra. It's not fair to leave you like this, to have you taking care of me. Don't remember me this way..." His head fell to his chest slowly, his shame wouldn't let him meet eyes with her any longer. "Don't remember me this way..."

"But Will I love you no matter how you are. I love you because I can't not love you, because it would kill me to keep that from myself. You know that, Will, you know that"  
She pulled his chin toward herself and kissed him slowly. "You know that Will." She looked seriously into his face, studying.

He looked, and saw in her eyes what was really there. That same love he felt when he was strong enough, that same love that forced him to not care about himself just so he could continue caring about her. His love, his Lyra. This was his world. Love was now the only place he could exist. Time was short and there was no longer room for anything else.

"I know." He kissed her back, but the tears wouldn't dry soon. "Let's go somewhere, Lyra."

"You can't, Will! You're not fit - "

"I'm fit anywhere just as much as I can be anymore. Besides," that sheepish look she loved so much to see in him flashed its way across his face, "Wherever we go, as long as you're there, so is my world. That's where I am."

"Then let's stay here, Will. We can stay and get you a hot bath and some sleep and maybe tomorrow -" His face fell at her words and she stopped.

"Lyra." Kirjava flowed smoothly into Lyra's lap, surprising both she and Will. "_What_ about tomorrow?" Lyra's heart broke. She'd felt it so many times it was almost a pitious thing now. Tomorrow doesn't count if you don't give today a chance. Tomorrow never arrives if today is where it ends.

Lyra smiled. "Let's go somewhere."

Pantalaimon discovered Will's slightly used walker in the downstairs linen closet. Lyra brushed the bits of cobweb from its handles and brought it to their room. He didn't have back problems, he didn't have leg problems. He had heart probelms, he had walking problems, trouble with exhaustion, _trouble with living_. Living was becoming too difficult for Will's body to tackle each day. Living had become a daily struggle for his mind to cope with. But his heart was there. Not literally. Literally, his heart was failing and would continue to do so for a short time before succeeding. His dæmon, his love. The things that were Will were still there. Some days they could overpower everything his body said was impossible and bring back the William Parry they knew. _Today will be like that_, Will reminded himself. _Today must be, for Lyra_.

He pushed aside the walker and took Lyra's hand. Not for balance, but because he loved her and would hold her hand anywhere to know she was beside him. _Even in the land of the dead, even when hope doesn't exist, even right now. She's beside me_.

"There's the garden, two streets over. The flowers should be nice." He was walking and speaking, Lyra didn't expect to hear much else until they arrived at the gardens, but silence was fine. He was beside her, and he was strong for her. She wished he'd save the strength for himself, but she knew in the end this was best for him.

"We could've had children, Will." Lyra put a hand to her stomach.

They paused at the corner before crossing the street. Pantalaimon and Kirjava were already waiting on the other side for them. Will smiled and caught his breath with one hand on his knee.

"I know you said you wouldn't leave me like that, but it wasn't bad for you - was it?" Her hand still rested thoughtfully on her stomach. "Your mum was so lucky to have you to love her, Will." He smiled again and began the street crossing. The entrance to the Botanic Garden lay at the other side. She would say no more about children. Decisions were already made. The end was just the place to re-evaluate, not to re-decide.

"There's a bench," Will paused again at the entrance, resting a hand on the stone structure for support. "Back, back a ways. Back by those..." He forgot the name and waved a hand in response. "Those plants we used that one day in Mr. Makepeace's - "He sputtered and began coughing. She rubbed his back until it subsidded. "It's back there." He nodded in affirmation.

"This way!" Kirjava appeared inside the entrance and shot past a fountain. A red blur followed her through another archway. Back they walked slowly, hand in hand, occasionally catching glimpses of red-brown and black in among the young plants. Back past another fountain and into the older parts of the gardens. The plants were thicker here and less well groomed, but the trees had deeper roots and Will liked the solid feeling of the place. Over a little bridge and in front of them: a wooden bench overhung by a sprawling twisted-trunked tree. In the wind shadows danced over the wood, revealing bits of slightly mossed brown into sunlight before gently covering them again with shadow. They took seats, side by side. Rustling behind them indicated both Pantalaimon and Kirjava had made their way into the tree above. As evidence bits of leaf began showering Lyra. Laughing, Will plucked them from her hair.

"I love you, Lyra." He couldn't look away now. A small cat hiss from above, "Will you marry me?" He pulled the ring slowly from his pocket and made his way to his knee.

Silence above. Lyra gasped.

"Oh, Will!" She fell onto her knees on the stone path beside him and hugged him. "Oh, Will!" She repeated. His heart beat faster, faster. "Will..." She held his face in her hands and kissed him, pulled back reluctantly, brought his hands into hers. Warm. He was so warm, she was so warm. Except... He looked down at the cold bit on Lyra's hand. Metal, gold. A ring. Sitting where his should be. He crumpled to the path, stunned. His hands dropped to the stone. The ring fell underneath the bench. His head spun, he couldn't...He felt sick.

"Lyra?" He looked up at her slowly.

"Will, look." She took the ring from the ground and slipped it down her finger, next to the other one. It was the same. "Look, Will." She pulled his hands from the ground and wrapped them around hers. "Will..." Heat ripped at her insides, tears would not come. "It's the same, Will. It's the same ring. You just get a little confused sometimes."

And suddenly his head cleared. He had the moment back. His head spun again, now with realization. His mouth fell open of its own accord.

"Lyra...you said 'yes'." His eyes spilled with tears as he hugged Lyra to him again and again "You said 'yes'!"

"Every time, Will. Every time."

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Author Notes

I expect you'll all kill me now. But in my defense, everything reads differently if you know how to read it wink  
Yes I had this end before I had the story in mind. I can't start if I can't see an end. And I did what I meant to do - to explore different variations of 'now' and 'eternity' and what they meant when you've got your time known. Is the ending sad? I don't know, it seems more like a hopeful promise of love to me, but then I've left a good deal open for your own interpretation. After all, characters are allowed to have their own stories beyond what is written about them. The stories you tell are just the little pieces that make up what you are for what the world sees from you.

In some other world, a slight breath away yet impossibly distant, the coin landed heads up and everything changed from that moment. Everything changed from thousands of little coin flips along the way because we're human and because we can love and make our own decisions. The end is only a time to re-evaluate, not to re-decide; that's when you decide if your eternity was the right one.

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Thank you everyone who has read this, and especially those who have enjoyed it - at least until this chapter. Thank you everyone who has reviewed, your reviews are very much appreciated and always encouraging to write more, and if not more, to write better. I hope you've all enjoyed reading, and please review!

The characters used in this story, His Dark Materials, and associated phrashing belong to Philip Pullman and all associated parties. I do not own the characters. I do not own the first chapter, an excerpt has been provided simply to show another story which sprang from the same instance using Philip Pullman's analogy of a coin-flip. Thank you Lord Asriel.


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